All I See
by waitingformyraggedyman
Summary: He had thought that finally figuring out what Lydia was would put his mind at ease. However, banshee or not, he finds himself still running straight for her whenever she screams, with that same familiar fear gripping his heart.
1. Chapter 1

It is safe to say that out of all his friends, he's heard Lydia scream the most. And as he hears it now, he knows that it doesn't matter if she screams every day for the rest of both of their lives. He will always react the same way. With fear and concern and worry and every protective instinct he has rising to the surface.

"Lydia?"

Stiles feels it all, now. His hurt plummeting to his stomach, his pulse accelerating as he whips around. Something in this particular wail tells him that it is not of a warning of an impending death. He hears her scream again, this time punctuated with terrified sobs, and he knows he's right.

"Lydia-" he moves, pushing himself away from the operating table he'd been leaning on. "Lydia!"

Panic starts to set in as he wonders what exactly could have happened to her in the time that she had left to use the clinic's restroom. He pushes his way past Deaton and Cora, who are frozen in shock, and then stops when he hears her sobbing again and this time the sound is much closer.

He blinks and Lydia is there. If he had thought seeing her would do something to calm his nerves, he was sorely mistaken. She is clawing at herself and he freezes, stunned. Her white dress is shredded and he can see the red of her skin where her nails have attacked it. "_Get it out of me-GET IT OUT OF ME!"_

"What the-what the hell are you doing?" Stiles grabs her, trying to catch at her arms. "Lydia, stop it-"

She just keeps screaming the same thing. "Get it out of me! Please-get it out-"

He realizes that she is not lucid, her eyes wide, petrified and far, far away. It frightens him to see her so terrified and incoherent. He quickly glances at her stomach, trying to understand what it was that she so desperately wanted out of her.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but blood from her hands, and white cloth, and more blood from the self-inflicted scratches all over her torso. Stiles lets her go for a fraction of second before he reaches for her from behind, grabbing both of her arms and crossing them in front of her as he holds her. "Lydia, there's nothing there-Lydia-"

Deaton, who'd been rummaging around for something, approaches them cautiously. Stiles catches a glimpse of the syringe in his hand and the vet subtly gestures to Lydia. His arms tightening around her, the blood on her hand now on his own, Stiles nods his consent. He hopes Lydia won't hate him too much for it and forgive him once she's calmed down.

But as Deaton moves towards them and Lydia begins thrashing even harder against Stiles, he wonders if he'll even be able to forgive himself.

"_No-_" her voice is choked as she screams. "I need to be awake- I need to get this out-_Stiles_-please-"

His heart breaks as he fights to keep his hold on her. He tells himself that this is for her own good, that she will be grateful that he stopped her from hurting herself. And yet, with Lydia crying and screaming and struggling to get away from him, it is much harder to accept the words he repeats to himself in his head.

"Lydia, it's okay," he murmurs into her hair. "It's going to be alright, Lydia."

And then the syringe is in her neck and Deaton pushes down on the plunger. It takes a few moments but the change in Lydia is palpable. She stops fighting, her movements stilled. Stiles is ready for the dead weight in his arms when her head drops back against his shoulder and she is no longer making any effort to hold herself up.

He lowers her to the floor steadily and Deaton kneels down beside her, murmuring something about how he's sedated her. Stiles keeps one hand on her hair, his eyes narrowing as he tries to process what just happened. "What's wrong with her?"

"She hallucinated," Deaton says simply. "Any chance someone could have gotten wolfsbane into her?"

Stiles shakes his head. "No, she's been with me all day-" And then he freezes. _Except when she wasn't_.

He stands up quickly, trying to control his emotions so his expression won't come out livid. Cora calls his name but he was already moving to the door. "Stay with her," is all he says.

"Stiles!"

"Just stay with her- I'll be back."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** **I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I'm so pleased with the response I've gotten to this fic, so thank you very much to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed. Enjoy!**

"Stiles!" Scott has to use both of his arms to hold his best friend back. It is wise that he does intervene because if he hadn't, werewolf or not, Aidan would have been lying dead, possibly just by the sheer force of fury in Stiles' glare.

"What did you do to her?"

"Who are you talking about?" To his credit, Aidan does look completely baffled. He rips the hand that Stiles has managed to get pass Scott off of his shirt.

It is a fair question if Stiles' were to stop and think about it. After all, the twins have not exactly had the best reputation when it comes to their treatment of the citizens of Beacon Hills. However, Stiles is in no mood to figure out who else his question could possibly apply to.

"Who the hell do you think?" Stiles' voice is filled with a certain kind of rage he knows only presents itself whenever Lydia is in trouble. "Lydia. She just about tried to tear herself open and Deaton thinks it's wolfsbane and _you_ were the last person to be with her-so let's try that again. _What did you do to her_?"

"Lydia?" Scott repeats, confused. "What happened?"

Stiles runs a frustrated hand through his hair and begins to recount what happened at the clinic. As he talks, his mind fills with the sounds of her cries and _get it out of me_ and shrill screams. His life is a constant nightmare and he has grown accustomed to taking the thoughts of werewolves and kanimas and homicidal druids and shelving them somewhere deep in his brain where they can't bother him when he sleeps. The sounds of Lydia's terror, however, are something that he can never push aside and he knows will haunt him just as sure as he is that they will her.

"She was hallucinating?" Scott asks after Stiles has finished speaking.

Stiles shrugs. "Deaton's guess."

He watches as Scott turns to both the twins but addresses Ethan when he speaks. "You told me you guys went after Danny and Lydia because you knew one of them would be important to me. And you said that you know it's Lydia."

"We didn't do this-whatever this is," Ethan holds up his hands, placating, catching sight of Scott's strained fists and probably realizing that between him and Stiles' vehemence, they would not benefit from being on the receiving end of their wrath. Alpha or not.

Stiles shakes his head, a humourless smile on his face. "Yeah? And why should we believe you? All you've," he jerks his head at Aidan, "been doing since you got here is trying to persuade her to join you in every freaking empty classroom in this place. And to what, keep an eye on her? So you can go back to your little barbaric group of alphas and decide on just exactly what to do to her to get to Scott?"

He realizes abruptly that half the anger that is radiating from him is aimed at no one but himself. They had all discussed Lydia's new found romance with Aidan-well everyone but Lydia- and came to the decision that it would be useful to keep Lydia in a position where she would be close to one of the Alphas. Not that they had much of another choice. Trying to force Lydia to break up with someone would not go over well. They'd all agreed to keep close watch of her and to put stock into what she always says about being capable of taking care of herself.

As reluctant as he'd been, he had eventually given in. He remembered wondering if they would come to regret it later. He wasn't sure about the others, but he knows that if he could, he would go back and keep her as far away from Aidan as possible. Her ire would have been much easier to handle than whatever his actions-or more so, _lack of_- have caused her now.

"Like you don't use her as a distraction for me whenever the need arises," Aidan sneers and Stiles pushes himself off of the wall he'd been leaning against only to, once again, be stopped by Scott. "Look, I didn't do anything to her. We were kind of caught up in something to do much of anything else-"

"Oh my God, shut up," Stiles groans and collapses back against the wall again.

"We don't have any reason to poison her with wolfsbane. We have no need to make her hallucinate," Ethan points out quietly and as much as Stiles wants to blame this on them, on _Aidan_, he can only deny the fact that he's convinced of their innocence –regarding this incident- for so long.

So he straightens and digs into his pocket for his keys. Once he's pulled them out, he stares at them for a moment, before looking up. "If we find out that you had something to do with this," he points at Ethan who raises a brow at him and the glint in Stiles' eye tells him _you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to break off an extra large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfbane, roll it in mistletoe and shove it up your freakin'-_

"My threat still stands. Stay away from her."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I really hope you guys are enjoying this so far, because I am certainly enjoying writing it. I also really enjoy reading reviews, so if you can, I would really appreciate it :) This is the third chapter and it's written in Lydia's point of view and I did switch tenses so hope you all don't mind. Enjoy!

* * *

_Lydia._

* * *

She took the smallest of steps towards the open doorway, beyond which she could hear voices coming from. Deaton had a hand hovering near the small of her back as though he was afraid she might fall and if Lydia were being honest, with how unsteady she felt on her feet, she feared the same thing.

It was like ice had settled in the pit of her stomach and nothing Deaton had done had gotten rid of it. So she walked, with arms wrapped around herself and shivering, trying to keep her thoughts away from how cold she felt and the incident that had brought it on.

"Where's Stiles?" Lydia turned her head slightly to look at Deaton. "Is-is he here?"

She hated how vulnerable she sounded. She hated how vulnerable she felt. Like the answer to that question would decide whether she would take another step forward or not. Like the presence of that boy- that stupid, beautiful, self-sacrificing _boy_- would determine her strength. It was Peter all over again, and she may not have had Stiles with her then but she was sure she would not get through _this_ without him now.

_But he had been with her then_.

It was Stiles who had stayed with her at the hospital after she'd been attacked by Derek's psychotic uncle. She'd never really made the effort to acknowledge his presence then but still, deep down, Lydia had been touched by his care and concern for her. He had offered to listen to her after he'd found her crying in her car. Yes, he had left and never actually returned for her to tell him anything. And yes, his apologies hadn't mattered because Lydia had put up her walls again and responded to his remorse with the usual fling of her hair and sarcastic dismissal.

He'd been there, though.

Back then she hadn't cared much for any sort of relationship with him. She had been too focused on Jackson and Peter and other important things like trying to keep her sanity. But now Stiles was important, more important than any of the heartbreak she had gone through for Jackson and definitely more important than her saneness. The only reason she had managed to keep her sanity when all of their worlds were currently filled with complete _insanity_ was because of Stiles.

"He's here," Deaton assured her with a small smile. "He left for a bit, but he came back when I was bandaging you up."

As if to confirm this, Stiles' voice rang out, distinct and sharp and held some sort of warning. "_Cora_."

Despite his tone, Lydia felt herself drowning in relief and a strange but comforting sense of familiarity. She started moving a bit faster toward the next room, feeling eager and desperate at the same time, and had his name on her lips and then- slammed right into the form of another Hale who she was not exactly fond of.

Derek's sister, who was usually all deadpan faces and threats, actually looked slightly apologetic as Lydia straightened from the impact.

"Lydia-hey-" Stiles eyes were wide with concern as he approached her. "You okay?"

She nodded faintly, not quite meeting his eyes. Her earlier to crushing need to see him seemed to have settled, and she was now left feeling awkward and anxious thinking about the last time she had seen him.

And not really been able to see him at all.

She had remembered him restraining her, pleading with her to stop. All she had really seen, however, was blood and monsters erupting through the flesh of her stomach and the face of the devil- heard the voice of the devil.

He stepped closer and she saw his hand reach out hesitantly to where some of her bare skin and strips of gauze were visible under the torn pieces of her dress. He looked up to her eyes just as he she had gathered the courage to meet his. He dropped his hand and whether it was because of the gauze that served as a testament to the harm she had inflicted on herself or the terror of past experiences that he could see in her eyes, his jaw flexed and he was looking at her with _that_ look. The look that told her that he knew that she was not, in fact, okay.

"Stiles, we need to ask her-" Cora's voice penetrated the silence.

"No, we don't," Stiles said flatly, his voice sounding tired. "I told you, I talked to the twins at school. It wasn't them."

"Have you thought that maybe they could, you know, _lie_?"

"Why would they do _that_ to her, Cora, tell me that?" Stiles demanded. "Trust me, I'm not one to jump to the defence of those two _assholes_- but how exactly would that have benefitted them? Poisoning her with wolfsbane?"

"Perhaps it wasn't wolfsbane-" Deaton had begun to say but Cora spoke over him.

"They are clearly interested in her for _something_-"

Lydia cut her off. "It…wasn't them. It wasn't Aidan."

"Look, I know you don't want to believe your boyfriend or whatever he is would want to hurt you-"

"I'm not an idiot," And suddenly, Lydia was annoyed at the fact that this was the second time she had to defend her intelligence to this girl. "I'm far from it, in fact. Aidan is not my boyfriend. He is not anything to me for me to defend if he hurt me. He is a part of the Alpha Pact. I have no reason to _not_ suspect him of this. But logically, Stiles' is right. And there is nothing that Aidan did today that would lead me to believe this happened because of him."

There was a pause and then Cora seemed to have decided to back off with the Aidan accusation as she asked. "Then what was this?"

Before Lydia could shake her head and tell her that she had absolutely no idea, Deaton had decided that it was time to call it a day. "It's gotten dark. We'll try to figure this out tomorrow. But now, Lydia needs to rest and it's not doing anyone any good to keep peppering her with questions right now."

And then she realized that, although she hadn't ever stopped shivering, she was trembling a lot harder now. The day had taken its toll on her and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in enough bed sheets to thaw the ice inside of her and fall asleep. Everyone seemed to notice because next thing she knew Deaton was walking towards the back saying something about finding blankets and Stiles was pulling off his red sweater.

"It's okay, I got it," Stiles carefully pulled it over her shoulders and she instantly felt better, swathed in the warm sweater that was big on her and held Stiles' soothing scent.

She mumbled a thanks and let him lead her to the front door as Cora followed. Stiles stopped as he pushed the door open and let them pass him, and looked at Deaton. "See you tomorrow."

Lydia looked over her shoulder at him as well. He nodded at Stiles and then his gaze fell on her. The smile he sent her way did not reach his eyes. "Take care, Lydia."

Offering a weak smile in return, Lydia nodded. Stiles let the door close behind them and as he guided her to his jeep, Lydia wasn't sure what had frightened her more. What she had seen and heard in the clinic's restroom or the deep grimness in Deaton's eyes as he'd observed her.

* * *

"I'm going to drop Lydia off first so she can get some rest, alright, Cora," Stiles said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," she responded and then sighed. "We're going to have to ask Deaton about what Lydia found about the Darach tomorrow too. He never actually got around to answering us."

Lydia saw Stiles nod vaguely, the way he was staring straight ahead at the road telling her that he was deep in thought about something else. She wondered what it was that he was thinking about. Was it her? Was he already thinking about ways to help her, the way he always dropped everything and did whenever something happened to her?

She had found something in her research at school about the true nature of the Darach and Stiles had suggested visiting Scott's mysterious but seemingly omniscient boss for more answers. Cora, who despite holding the Alpha Pact as her number one threat, seemed to have taken an interest in the Darach as well and tagged along. And yet, the severity of the Darach had paled in comparison to whatever it was that had happened to her today. As if the combined troubles of the Alpha Pact _and_ the Darach weren't enough, Lydia had now caught the attention of some other evil creature intent on making her hallucinate to her death.

"Stiles," she said quietly. He turned to look at her and Lydia found herself unable to maintain eye contact, and dropped her gaze to her lap. "Can I…can I stay with you tonight?"

Stiles' eyes widened in surprise. A couple of months ago, she was sure that if she had asked him the same question, he would have been reduced to a stuttering mess and looked much like he had after seeing her emerge from the woods sans any clothing. But as sure as she was about that, she was even more certain that he would not react that way now. She knew she was right when, after a few moments, his eyes softened and he nodded.

"Yeah, of course," he assured her as he signaled to change lines, heading to Derek's loft instead. "Do you want me to take you to your house, though? Wouldn't you be more comfortable that way? I can stay with you there."

Lydia shook her head. "I don't want to go home."

And then she looked at him and hoped that he wouldn't pick now of all times to lose his ability to read her eyes. _I don't want to go to that house, to that room, where my freaky banshee powers wake me up screaming._ _I don't want to be in the room where Peter haunted me for so many nights. And I definitely don't want to say all this out loud when his niece is sitting right behind me. _

Fortunately, he seemed to read her in an instant and smiled gently before focusing on the road again.

Lydia wondered if her eyes had betrayed her strongest reason behind refusing to go home. _I don't want to go to that house because it's not home. You are._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: I was creeping myself out writing this chapter in the middle of the night but hopefully you guys like it and it'll be worth it. Please review if you can! Enjoy :)**

_Stiles._

* * *

"Lydia?" he quickly mumbled an apology when she flinched, his voice breaking the silence seeming to have frightened her.

He'd just gotten back from the kitchen with the glass of water she had requested and found her in the exact same spot she'd been when he'd left. She stood staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself and looking just as vulnerable as she had back at the clinic. He saw how she was still shivering, despite wearing his sweater.

She took the glass he offered her with a small smile but then her eyes widened when he turned to head out the door again. "Stiles-?"

"I'll be right back," he promised, heading to the linen closet in the hallway. When he returned, Lydia was watching him curiously. He smiled gently at her and then approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her again.

He carefully pulled the blanket around her and when her eyes met his, she looked touched. "Thank you," she whispered and he just waved it off with one of his wild gestures.

"Drink," he told her, nodding at the glass in her hands.

She complied wordlessly, taking a sip. She shivered again and pulled the glass away from her lips. "Is there ice in this?"

He shook his head. "No, but I can get you something warm. Tea? Hot chocolate?"

He saw her open her mouth to reply but is cut off by the ring of the doorbell. He frowned, wondering who it could be. His Dad was not due to come home anytime soon as the Sheriff was working an overnight shift. Scott, he knew, was out with Isaac and Derek trying to come up with a way to subdue the Alpha Pact.

He left Lydia in his room as he made his way downstairs. He opened the door only to find the porch empty. Confused, he stepped back into the house shutting the door closed behind him and briefly considered the possibility of pranksters.

Seconds later, he heard glass break from upstairs.

It was never that simple in this town.

He whipped around, hearing Lydia scream and suddenly his room felt miles away.

* * *

She was quiet as he rocked her, no longer crying into his shoulder and having long exhausted herself with her screams. He would have held her until not one part of his shirt was left untouched by her tears but he was grateful that her crying had subsided. There was something about Lydia's sobs, which were born out of nothing but pure _fear_, that was heartbreaking and had made his own eyes fill with tears.

It had been hours since the doorbell had rung. Stiles had raced to his room to find Lydia in a state of absolute terror. She had barely responded when he'd taken her face into his hands and he'd feared that it was the clinic all over again and she'd have to be sedated into coherency.

Fortunately, her eyes had focused rather quickly and as soon as she'd recognized him, he'd pulled her into his arms. It had taken much longer, however, for her to quiet. The sobbing had lasted the longest, fading into tiny whimpers and gasps, before she finally settled into some sort of calm. She was still as he held her now, sniffling occasionally but only the remnants of tears on her face.

Lydia's knees had given out a couple of moments after he'd surrounded her in his embrace, which was why they both sat on the ground now, in the middle of his room, not having moved from that exact spot for hours. His back had started to hurt a while back but he'd ignored it. He did not have the heart to let go of her when she clung to the front of his shirt so tightly.

So he rocked her. It was a simple movement but effective nonetheless because as soon as he'd started, Lydia's calm became tangible. Her grip on him had not loosened, but the rest of her body had relaxed. He had noticed how every now and then, she'd turn her face into his neck and he'd feel her eyelashes flutter against his skin as she squeezed her eyes shut.

She hadn't told him what had caused her screams this time. He had found her in the midst of shattered glass and damp carpet just..._screaming_. Screaming and crying. This, in retrospect, was not unusual for Lydia. He'd witnessed it not eight hours ago at the clinic. But this time she had not been clawing at herself and when she'd tried to speak, all that she had managed to voice was his name. _Stiles Stiles Stiles_. Over and over again.

He hadn't understood why she had kept calling his name like that. At first, he had just responded with assurances, telling her that he was there. And then he'd realized that it wasn't because she was unaware of his presence. She knew he was there. She had been trying to tell him something.

"Stiles…" he'd pulled back just a little so he could catch her face between his palms again and noticed how her eyes would dart around everywhere in the room. "Stiles-"

She seemed to get distracted every time after she'd say his name and by the time she'd refocus, she would begin with his name again and it became a cycle.

"Lydia, what is it? What did you see?" At first, he'd tried coaxing her to finish her sentences but soon realized that she was beyond the point of persuasion. "You can tell me, Lydia, I swear-I won't let it hurt you."

It frustrated him, not knowing what _it_ was because no matter the number of promises of protection he offered her and his readiness to give up anything and everything to keep her safe he still had no idea what he was shielding her from.

* * *

_Lydia_.

* * *

She'd stopped looking up. Lydia had figured that if she just focused on one spot on Stiles' grey shirt, she wouldn't have been able to see anything else.

Lydia was familiar with monsters. She had been Peter's victim for a long time. Her ex-boyfriend was a Kanima-turned-werewolf. She had seen the face of the Darach when no else could. She would have thought that after all she'd been through, monsters were not something that would destroy her.

And yet, here she sat, on the carpet of Stiles Stilinski's bedroom clinging to his chest with a grip she was quite sure could rival a werewolf's. She had told herself that she would let go as soon as she'd stopped crying, that she would relieve Stiles' of the awkward position he was currently sitting in and his surely aching back. But she hadn't. It had been hours and her fingers had not loosened their hold on the fabric of his shirt.

There had been a flash of black that she had seen at the corner of her eyes, just over Stiles' arm and Lydia had started telling herself all sorts of nothings- _not looking at it I'm not looking at it- Stiles' shirt is grey- it's grey and grey and black and grey-_

She had pulled herself up a little so she could rest her cheek on Stiles' shoulder instead of his chest. She had just started to relax, having found peace for a moment, before the black had appeared right in front of her eyes.

The image of it, which she had been trying to scrape out of her mind for the past couple of hours, popped into her mind again. She feared that this face would never leave her, in memory if not reality.

It was similar to the Darach in outward appearance. A hooded being in a black cloak. The face, however, was not marred by scars. The attention catching features being ithe eyes and its smile instead, both of which were much more terrifying than the Darach's.

Lydia couldn't explain it. It was as if its eyes held a red abyss, dark and frightening and powerful and evil. The smile was so much worse. It looked malevolent and devilish and held the terror of the combined horrors of all of her nightmares. White skin, red eyes, and a smile that seemed to come straight out of a horror movie and Lydia remembered how she had no more tears left for it as it hovered before her face.

And the only comfort Lydia had found was by burying her face into the crook of Stiles' neck. Fear had kept her paralysed, kept her silent.

She was suffering in silence, but she knew that this entire experience would be significantly harder without Stiles. She found peace, however small, in him and she may have let that thing terrify her beyond belief but she would be damned if she let it take her away from Stiles.

Every once in awhile, she'd turned her cheek back onto Stiles's shoulder and the face had been there. She had not flinched. She had not screamed. She had stared at it, her face the perfect façade of impassive and then returned to hiding against the skin of Stiles' neck. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she had wished for the being to be gone. And every time she had opened them again, it had still been there, like clockwork.

If Stiles' had been curious about her movements, he hadn't showed it. Every time she dug her face into his shoulder, his right hand had come up and rested on the back of her head, his thumb stroking her hair. It had consoled her immeasurably and Lydia found herself continuing to turn into his shoulder even after the thing had apparently left, about fifteen minutes after it had first appeared in Stiles' room.

The thing that had thrown her into such a state of chaos and then left her a mess on the floor in the arms of a _very_ bewildered boy had disappeared hours ago and it was only now that, after they both came to some sort of unspoken agreement, that Stiles shifted under her and then started to get up. He pulled her up with him and kept his arms around her as he led her to the bed, holding her up like he was afraid she would collapse if he didn't

"You take the bed and I'll-" One look from Lydia and he backtracked so quickly that it would have been comical if in any situation less dire. "-sleep over the covers?"

He probably realized that leaving her alone in his room while he slept somewhere else, however close, was not an option. Considering that she had only unlocked her fingers from his shirt just seconds ago, she was not going to pretend like she didn't need him to stay with her. She needed him to. She wanted him to.

He waited until she had crawled into his bed and gingerly laid herself against the pillows. She still had the blanket wrapped around her and Stiles made no move to take it from her. She wouldn't have given it to him, anyways. The ice in her stomach had thawed slightly in the hours spent on the floor but she still felt chills all over her.

Her eyes filled with tears as Stiles tucked her in. It had been a long time since someone had tucked her into bed and even longer since someone had done it so tenderly. He pulled the comforter up over her body and then let her hold it before standing up straight. She felt his hand on her hair for a split second before he retreated to the other side of the bed. He did not turn off the lights and she was grateful.

"Stiles?" she turned her head to face him once he'd settled on top of the covers beside her.

His eyes were gentle as he watched her. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. Thank you."

She hoped he could hear what she really meant by those words. _I'm sorry you have to stay with me. Please stay. Thank you for not leaving. Please don't ever leave._

And she read his response in the small squeeze he pressed into her hand-_always-_ and in the soft caress of his thumb- _never_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: I'm sorry it took longer to update guys, but I'm afraid updating might take a bit longer from now on because my first year of Uni is starting tommorow. The wait won't be too bad, just not as short as they used to be. I will try my very best to update as regularly as I can. But thank you all for the feedback and for following and favouriting, you all are awesome! Keep the reviews coming, I love reading them :) Enjoy!**

* * *

Weeks had passed since Lydia had seen the dark figure in Stiles' bedroom and it had yet to make a reappearance. The situation with the Darach and the Alpha pact had been resolved- well as resolved as things could get-, Derek was gone, and Lydia had found herself in some sort of an actual relationship with Aiden.

She didn't really understand why. Having Aiden as a boyfriend was fine. He walked her to class, carried her books, kissed her good morning sweetly. He responded eagerly to her whenever she needed a distraction. But that's all he was. Just _fine_ and still served the same purpose to her as he had in the beginning. A_ distraction_.

He didn't understand why Lydia wouldn't let him come over anymore. Why she wouldn't acknowledge him at school, except when she greeted him in the morning and before she left for home after the bell rang. He especially did not understand why she had spent more time with Stiles Stilinski than she had with him.

She hadn't stayed over at Stiles' places after that one night but it had taken her a couple of weeks before she'd fallen asleep without needing to hear his voice on the other end of the phone. Lydia had managed to relax a bit more, starting to really believe that whatever had been haunting her had decided to stop for whatever reason.

Stiles' had kept his eye on her though and for that she was grateful. She still had nightmares occasionally after that and when she did, Stiles had picked up on the first ring, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He'd ramble on random facts to her whenever she'd wake at three in the morning, tangled in sheets and skin sticky with sweat.

Or at least he had. She had begun to make it a bit difficult for him.

Lydia stood on the tip of her toes, reaching as far as she could into the top shelf of her locker, her fingers seeking the spine of her Biology textbook when she heard the vague sound of footsteps approaching. Right when she'd managed to skim the back of the book her feet gave out.

"Damn it," she sighed and stretched to try and reach it again. She found that a hand was already there, pulling the book out.

She turned her head to see Stiles looking down at her with a small but amused smile on his face. "Hey," he said.

"Hi," she responded quickly and then looked away just as fast when she noticed who was with him.

She had momentarily forgotten that she wasn't the only one who had found a distraction.

Stiles was holding Becca Johnson's hand. And Lydia was in no mood to see that.

The petite, freckled, dark haired girl was new to the school, having arrived in town about a week after Derek had left, and had caught Stiles' attention almost immediately. Lydia wondered if it was just the normalcy of her that had attracted Stiles to her.

It wasn't like she could blame him for it. Stiles was always plagued with supernatural issues. If it wasn't taking care of the werewolves and whatever problematic situation they found themselves in, it was her and her craziness. And Becca was just a normal, teenage girl who was quirky and smart-just like Stiles-, who didn't need him to fix everything for her.

It wasn't just Stiles who was enamoured by her. The entirety of the McCall pack seemed to genuinely enjoy her presence. Becca had an air about her that put everyone around her at ease. She was kind and cute and simple and captivating all at the same time. It was odd that a girl who had no knowledge of any of the supernatural activity in Beacon Hills could fit so easily with all of them, but somehow, she did. Lydia couldn't deny it. Becca was a breath of fresh air for the group. She had no reason to deny it.

_Except she did_.

It was why she couldn't look at the two of them for more than half a second.

"Hey Lydia," Becca greeted Lydia with a kind smile.

She returned the smile but then quickly returned to pretending to flip through her textbook. "Shouldn't you two be heading off to class? The bell's going to ring."

"As a matter of fact, I probably should," Lydia saw Becca turn her head up to Stiles who kissed her temple. The way he smiled at her was nothing like the way Lydia smiled at Aiden. Becca wasn't a distraction for Stiles. She was appalled to feel the lump in her throat and her eyes burning at the realization. "I'll see you later?"

Stiles watched her go for a moment before Lydia felt his eyes on her again. She was pretending to search the top shelf again, trying to control her breathing in an effort to prevent the _tears_ from falling. "Aren't you going to go as well?"

"I'm in your class."

"Well I'm heading over there right after I find-"

"Lydia, you can't reach," she glared at him and he sighed before gently pulling her arm away and reaching for the top shelf himself. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," Lydia grumbled and then moved past him at a pace she didn't know she was capable of.

"What-Lydia?" she heard him close the locker shut and then he was following her. "What's wrong?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I'm going to class, Stiles."

"Hold on a second," he said, and something in his voice made Lydia stop. "I wanted to talk to you."

The halls were nearly empty now, except for a few students doing some last minute scurrying. Stiles waited until a nearby freshman was out of earshot before speaking again. "How are you?"

Lydia stared at him. And then retreated into the same façade she had put up on the first day of school when he'd questioned her about the injury on her ankle. _Prada bit me. Your dog? No, my designer handbag._ "I'm fine…?"

And his eyes narrowed and he gave her the exact same exasperated look. "Like hell you are-"

"Stiles, do we have to do this now?" Lydia demanded, looking around her, trying to find someone in the hallway that she could claim could be eavesdropping. But as luck would have it, the bell had already rung and it was now completely empty aside from the two of them.

"Now? You mean, right now in this empty hallway devoid of all people where two friends could just ask each other how they're doing since both their worlds became centred around werewolves and banshees and _not_ get institutionalized if anyone were to hear?" Stiles still whispered the second half and Lydia groaned. "Yeah, Lydia, _now_."

She crossed her arms over her chest and said determinedly, "I'm fine, Stiles."

There was silence as he watched her face, her eyes. Then, "I don't believe you."

"You don't need to," The words were cold but Stiles was looking at her like he felt sorry for her and she could feel the tears in her eyes again and she just wanted to tell him that no _she was not okay_-

"You've been avoiding me," he finally spoke, after what seemed like a decade long pause.

"I have not," Lydia denied vehemently and she probably should have known that that level of emotion in her refutation just made it even more of a confirmation. "Look, Stiles, I've been busy and that thing hasn't come back since the last time-"

"You haven't been having nightmares?"

"No."

"That's not what Allison's been saying. She said whenever you two are sleeping in the same room it's like a horror movie with all the screaming the both of you do."

She'd forgotten that Allison was vaguely aware of Lydia's nightmares as well but nowhere close to the full extent and Lydia was hesitant to fill her in. She wasn't doing all that great herself, constantly being plagued by visions of her murdering Isaac.

Lydia relented, the anger leaving her and her eyes falling to the floor. "I have them sometimes. They're fine. I can handle them on my own."

"You could have handled all of them on your own, Lydia," Stiles said flatly. "The point is, you didn't have to. You don't have to. Which is why you used to call me."

He was watching her, waiting for her to reply, his brow raised as if daring her to pretend like she hadn't been doing what they both knew she'd been doing all along. Avoiding him.

The last thing she wanted to be doing was arguing with Stiles in the middle of the hallway about why she didn't call him anymore when they both knew that she needed him. What was she supposed to say? She was starting to accept that yes, she was hurting and it _was _because Stiles was with Becca. But there was no way she was about to tell him that.

Lydia knew that she had no right to be upset. Stiles had pursued her since the third grade, had made it perfectly clear to her that he wanted to be with her. She had every reasonable opportunity in the last two years, but she hadn't taken it. She couldn't expect him to wait for her forever especially since she knew that if their roles were reversed, she wouldn't.

And he hadn't.

"Stiles, I need to go to class," Lydia said finally. "And so do you."

She heard Stiles call her twice as she walked away. She didn't turn around. She didn't slow down.

When she turned the corner, she stopped. She listened to see if Stiles was following and when she was convinced he wasn't, she pressed her back against the wall and reached into her bag for tissues.

When her hand came up empty, she settled for wiping her tears away with her hand.

* * *

The rift between Lydia and Stiles did nothing to drive her any closer to Aiden. In fact, she found herself drawing away from him more now than ever. She knew it was driving him insane but she figured she could keep him happier with her distance than burden him with the emotional mess that she was.

While she had pulled away from Aiden, Lydia had formed a close bond with someone else. Isaac.

She didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that out of the pack, Isaac seemed to be the one who liked Becca the least. When Lydia had asked why, Isaac had shrugged and said that he found it odd how quickly everyone had accepted her into their pack and that he just didn't trust her yet.

Lydia knew it was petty but since she wasn't overly fond of Becca either, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction that at least Isaac didn't think she was that great either.

Isaac wasn't bad company at all. Their friendship had formed when Lydia had taken to sitting beside him at their lunch table. He always sat close enough to her best friend and just far enough from Stiles that she'd found it the perfect spot. At first, he'd been confused with her sudden desire to be closer to him. But then he seemed to take notice of the way Lydia would try _not_ to look at Stiles and had let it be.

Lydia was surprised when Isaac turned out to be the only one who she told about Stiles. Surprised as she was, she was happy that she did. He had kept it to himself and had since made it his responsibility to become her wingman, of sorts. He'd cover for her whenever she was afraid of being left alone with Stiles, coming up with a quick excuse to switch places with her. He'd nudge her playfully whenever he'd catch her staring at her food while everyone else was busy talking animatedly with Becca.

She was grateful for Isaac. She'd forgiven him ten times over for trying to kill her last year. She thought he was an amazing guy and wouldn't deny that she thought that he would be good for Allison.

Those two had some weird tension between them that all of them could sense a mile away.

As wonderful as Isaac was, she still coaxed herself back to sleep whenever she woke up from a nightmare. She was comfortable with Isaac, but not enough to let her walls down completely. She felt completely exposed and vulnerable after a nightmare and found it much harder to let someone in in that state.

A voice in her head told her, _You let Stiles in_.

Isaac was great. But she missed Stiles.

* * *

The bell rang for lunch and Lydia stood from her desk quickly. She gathered her things as fast as she could, in a hurry to get out of the classroom before Stiles, who was in the class with her, could stop her.

It had been a week and half since he'd confronted her in the hallway and they hadn't spoken since. Stiles had tried to but she always made sure that there was always at least one person with her whenever he was near. Other than Isaac, Lydia hadn't told anyone about Stiles and from the way he refrained from talking to her whenever someone else was there, she knew he hadn't either. It seemed the rest of the pack hadn't picked up on the tension between them.

She had made it out the door and was just about to turn the corner when she walked straight into Becca. "Lydia, there you are!"

Lydia tried to keep her expression pleasant and voice neutral. "Hi Becca…were you looking for me?"

She nodded, the hair she had pulled into a pony tail bobbing behind her. "I wanted a word."

"About what?"

"Listen," her voice dropped and she was now speaking much quieter, like she was trying to avoid eavesdroppers. "Stiles told me how you've been having trouble sleeping with the nightmares and all. I just want you to know, that if you've stopped talking to him because you're worried about what I'd think, please don't. I don't mind him helping you at all. If he can help you sleep better, then of course I don't mind."

But all Lydia had really heard was one thing.

_Stiles told me Stiles told Stiles told me._

She felt the tears fall down her face before she felt the anger that fueled them. She felt her heart break before the hurt had set in. She felt her walls come back up and solidify before her, what used to be unwavering, trust in Stiles faltered.

She turned around, overwhelmed with her tears and ran. She heard Becca call her from behind and a few moments later felt arms try to catch her. It was Scott, who looked so concerned it made her cry harder. She batted his hands away and continued to move down the hall, desperate to reach the front doors.

"_Lydia_!" That was Isaac. She looked over her shoulder to see him pushing through the crowd, trying to get to her. "Lydia-what happened? Lydia!"

She somehow made it outside and as soon as she'd locked herself inside her car, she tried to block out the memory of Isaac's voice in her head.

The way he had called her, the concern in his voice and his face, reminded her too much of Stiles. And it hurt because Isaac was just beyond the school doors, willing and ready to be the friend she needed. But all she wanted was Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**This has probably got to be the longest wait in existence...I AM SO SORRY GUYS. School has been so so hectic and I kept trying to get back to the story but could never find the time to get anything done. I promise I will try my very very best to get you the next chapter here _much_ sooner than I managed to upload this one. I do plan to make it up to you guys, though. Leave me something you would like to see in the future chapters in the reviews and I will try my best to fit some of them in! Please enjoy! Again, thank you for the reviews and alerts. You guys are awesome!

* * *

"Alright. _Enough_, Lydia," Isaac finally snapped and a very small and distant part of Lydia's mind was smug because she had won the bet she'd made with herself.

She had wondered how long it would take for Isaac to put his foot down. It wasn't like Isaac was going to stay passive about her behaviour forever.

He had let her be at first. He would say nothing whenever he stopped by her place to give her the homework she missed when she started to skip class. She had taken to spending most of her days in bed, hiding under her sheets, and after her mom had given up, Isaac had taken over the responsibility of bringing meals up to her room. Sometimes he'd coax her to eat. Most of the time he'd just leave the plate on her bedside table, put her phone in her hand in case she needed something (she never did, but it put Isaac's mind at ease that he would be just a phone call away on the off-chance that she did), and quietly leave the room.

He'd even let her take her pills, but had monitored her use closely. Whenever her arm would reach out, eager to take one pill too many, his werewolf reflexes would kick in and he'd snatch the bottle off her bedside table. She never fought him.

But she never resurfaced either.

"Look at me," she heard Isaac move closer to her bed.

"Go away, Isaac," she mumbled.

"Lydia, get up-"

Her breath caught in her throat.

_Lydia, get up!_

"You're going to get up and get dressed and then we're going to go and get you something to eat."

_Okay, you're going to dance with me_.

"I don't care if you don't want to. I don't care if you never want to leave your room. You're going to."

_I don't care that you made out with my best friend for some weird power thing -I don't._

"I'm about this close to dragging Stiles' ass down here himself so you two can work out whatever the hell it is that has you like this- and _don't_ tell me it's not about him and don't tell me that you're fine because I know the only reason you're drowning yourself in these pills is because you're _not fine_."

Lydia had sat up when he'd mentioned brining Stiles here, not sure if he was fibbing or not. He was watching her intently and Lydia could see the confusion behind all the worry in his eyes. She hadn't told him what had happened with Becca and although he had seemed to guess that it had something to do with Stiles, he was more or less in the dark about what had driven her into hiding in her bed.

"I don't know what happened, Lydia. But I do know that you cry yourself to sleep more nights than anyone should." Lydia stared at him in shock, wondering just how many nights he'd stayed with her and about how out of it she must have been if she hadn't even noticed him there during her darkest nights. "That's right, everyone else may think you're just having a bad couple of days but _I know_ Lydia, I know it's so much more than that and _I want to help you_. Please let me help you. What's going on?"

_And I'm also pretty sure I'm the only one who knows just how smart you really are, uh-huh-_

She just continued to stare at him, keeping her expression blank. She had underestimated Isaac's perceptiveness. He had lived in an abusive home for years and maybe that was why he could read the fear and utter defeat in her.

_-and that once you're done pretending to be a nitwit, you'll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize._

The dark figure had returned. Locked in her car, trying furiously to stop the tears flowing from what Becca had told her, she'd looked up to her rear-view mirror to find the face there. Grinning maliciously, eyes wide and eager- like it was finding some sick sort of pleasure in Lydia's pain.

She noticed that it never seemed to falter at the presence of others, confident because Lydia was the only one who could see it, which left her exposed to it no matter how many people were around to protect her. It had started to lie down on the bed next to her so that Lydia was forced to face it whenever she tried to go to sleep. Turning around never worked. It would just move to stand beside her bed.

It was those nights that the tears would come, fueled by nothing but terror and was probably what left Isaac feeling so helpless as he'd watch her struggle to find peace before she slept. She couldn't deny that Isaac's presence did make her feel safer. Sometimes she'd find herself craving to be held, tucked safely into someone's arms.

Isaac had held her once before. Sometime last week, a nightmare had woken her and the ferociousness of it had sent her spiralling off the bed as she'd tried to take in her surroundings.

Isaac had been panicked when he woke from his spot on the chair by her bed to her screaming, but having no visual of her. She remembered him rushing to her when his eyes fell on her on the floor, swearing when he saw how much of a frightened mess she was. He'd taken her into his arms, shushed her, and when she'd finally managed to close her eyes again, set her back down on the bed.

It was then that she had realized that she was not longing to be held in someone's arms. She just wanted _Stiles_ to hold her.

"Field's Medal," When she finally spoke, she said the two words that she knew would make absolutely no sense to Isaac.

"What?"

_What?_

"Goodbye, Isaac."

_Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics. The Field's Medal is the one I'll be winning._

Isaac's eyes narrowed and he gave her once last, intense stare and then left. Lydia watched him go. She had driven him away now too and Lydia didn't regret her actions this time.

Isaac was a good person and he didn't deserve to be dragged into any of this. She would handle it all herself. The pain, the fear, the heartbreak- they were all things that belonged to her alone and she would deal with them on her own.

* * *

The glass shattered around Lydia and then fell at her feet. She waited a couple of moments and then, as if on cue, she saw the knob of her locked bedroom door turn futilely and then heard excessive banging as her mom called to her from the other side.

"Lydia-what was that?" she stared at the door. "Are you alright?"

Her mother's knocking on the door is not what draws her eyes there. _It _is standing there-with its smile and frightening eyes and it is all Lydia can do to keep herself from falling to her knees from the overwhelming terror and helplessness that washes over her.

She'd told herself she would handle it alone. She'd told Isaac she would handle it alone. But standing with her toes curling into the carpet in tension, facing the one thing that she absolutely did _not_ want to handle alone, there is nothing that Lydia wanted more than to give up.

The glass is in her hand before she even realizes she's moved.

* * *

Isaac couldn't help but notice the livid look on Stiles' face as he saw the Sheriff's son slam the door of his truck shut after he's parked front of the house. He glanced over his shoulder at Lydia, who he knew was pretending to sleep, and then before shut the window closed and waited for Stiles to make it up the stairs.

When the sounds of his footsteps are heard in her room he noticed how Lydia's eyes opened and then snapped to his questioningly. Isaac leveled her with a grim look. "What? You thought I wouldn't call him?"

She sat up immediately and the anger in her eyes would have concerned him if not for the fact that he could also see her relief. "Isaac-you had no right-"

"To what?" he raised his eyebrows at her. "Help you? Yeah, I think I did actually considering I just had to pull a shard of glass the size of my wallet out of your hand before you hacked your wrist off, Lydia."

She flinched and he immediately regretted his choice of words and tone. Before he could apologize, Stiles pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The tension in the room was palpable.

Isaac rubbed the nape of his neck, his eyes flickering between Lydia and Stiles. The red-head was staring at Stiles with a steeled look, like she was preparing for a battle. Stiles had his eyes narrowed in a very particular way, an expression that Isaac realized he'd only seen ever directed at Lydia.

It felt like the calm before the storm and Isaac wanted to be out of there before it hit. He was just about to dismiss himself from the room when he noticed Lydia's posture change. Her soldiers slumped and she lay back down against the pillows so that she was facing away from Stiles. He sighed and moved towards the door.

"Fix this," he murmured to Stiles as he passed him.

* * *

_Fix this._

As if Stiles even knew where to start.

Isaac had left the room and he couldn't blame him. Between his anger and the all too real possibility of Lydia throwing things at him, they weren't exactly in the least volatile of all positions.

"Lydia," he waited and when it was clear she wasn't making any move to acknowledge that he had started their conversation he tried a different approach. "Lydia, you're going to turn around and talk to me or I _will_ leave."

He heard a small laugh, muffled by the pillow, but could hear no humour in it. "I want you to leave."

"You're lying," he wasn't even fazed by what she said. "That's all you've been doing the last couple of weeks, lying to me-that is, when you were even talking to me at all. Look at me."

"I'm not lying. I don't need you. I want you to leave."

His frustration grew when she still would not turn around and face him. "You didn't tell Isaac about what you've been seeing, did you?"

"Why would I?" she asked, her voice emotionless.

"Because maybe then you wouldn't have felt the need to try and do this."

She sat up then and his eyes widened when he noticed how hers were filled with angry tears. "Do what, Stiles? Try and kill myself? You know what, I don't know why I did that. But I'll tell you something, if Isaac _had_ known, it wouldn't have made a difference. And that's _your _fault."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Stiles clenched his jaw.

"I told you everything, Stiles," And just like that, all his anger disappeared when he heard her voice break. "Everything. And then...then…you weren't there."

Her tears were no longer fueled by anger either and the grief he could see on her face broke his heart. "Lydia," he whispered, moving to sit on the side of the bed. "Lydia, I never left. I was always there."

Stiles didn't know what had made her withdraw from him so completely but the pain in her face made him regret not trying harder to reconnect with her. He very slowly, cautious of the fact that she might not want him touching her right now, reached out with his right hand and gently caught her chin, stroking it with his thumb. She didn't pull away.

In fact he had to hide his surprise when she leaned into him and rested her head against his chest, her hands weakly gripping the loose ends of his shirt on either side. "I wasn't trying to kill myself."

He nodded lightly against the top of her head, figuring it was better to let her finish saying whatever was on her mind. After a pause, she continued. "I don't remember picking up the glass. I was scared. I wanted to…give up. But I didn't. But I know I didn't think of picking up the glass. I wasn't ready to do that. I remember Mom calling for me. I remember Isaac when he took the glass from me. But I don't remember anything between that."

He pondered her words for a moment. It was all too possible that her lapse in memory may have been caused by her own mind trying to bury a traumatizing memory. However, something in the way she spoke, when she said "But I didn't", convinced him otherwise.

"Stiles, I didn't want to take my own life. I don't remember ever coming to that decision."

He sighed and his mouth pressed against her hairline. "I believe you."

She visibly relaxed in his arms and then, "I'm glad Isaac heard the glass break."

"Me too," his insides went cold when he thought of what would have happened had Isaac not reached her in time. "You need to sleep. We'll figure all of this out in the morning." He didn't add that when he said "all of this" he also meant whatever the hell had happened between the two of them.

She looked up at him and he could read the fear in her eyes, as plain as day. He spoke before her mouth had even opened.

"I'll stay."


End file.
